Cold
by FlyinBison
Summary: True love is dead.  All love is unrequited.  What really happened to Scott after Jean’s sacrifice?  Scott searches his past while Bobby Drake searches for a way to bring a hollow man back to life.  Eventual Cyclops X Iceman shonen ai. Please review!
1. Chapter 1: Lake Akali

**Disclaimer: **The following fiction is fan made and was inspired by the characters and story as developed by Marvel Comics. In no way do I own these characters nor their back stories.

**Author's notes:** The following is a one shot inspired by the autumn and pressure from friends to do a FF pairing my 2 fav characters. However, I'm afraid I've only seen the old animated series (not "X-men Evolutions") and the movies so bear with me. What you need to know, is that it takes place a year or so after Scott watches Jean "die" at Lake Alkali. (Though I've seen X3 I like to believe that that movie NEVER happened!). I don't remember what the lake was called in the movie so I'm going with that name from the comics for now.

Please also note that I've taken some artistic freedom and some of the flashbacks are my takes on certain general events in the series.

I don't know if I'll continue this thread or pairing in the future or not… But enjoy and please let me know what you think! I'm actually experimenting with a more descriptive but subtle style so reviews would really help.

**Cold**

**Part 1: Lake Akali**

_(Several years ago…)_

After quietly shutting and locking the bathroom door behind himself, Bobby Drake stripped his clothes off. The frigid air in the room caused his skin to prickle briefly. In a ritualistic fashion, he folded his garments and stacked them neatly along the window sill as the bathtub filled with scalding hot water. He wasn't sure, but despite the heat emanating from the radiator in the corner it seemed like the room had gotten significantly colder since he had entered.

Slowly, steam began to fog the windows and the mirrors of the cool tiled bathroom as the boy looked his reflection up and down, his eyes filling with water. Getting closer, he gripped the mirror only to realize that his slightest touch instantly turned the condensed droplets on it into a fine layer of frost. He only cried harder when he heard his tears shatter as tiny ice shards against the tiles beneath his feet.

The hot water in the tub immediately chilled as Bobby settled his shoulders beneath its surface. As he lay in the water, crystals of ice started to form in thin sheets at the corners of the tub.

"I don't want to be cold anymore…" were the only words that ran through Bobby's head as he pressed a razor into his shivering wrist over and over. Since the water was now cold, he had no choice but to keep cutting so that the blood would continue to flow. A slow, painful death this was going to be, indeed.

As the room began to fade a part of him thought he had never felt so cold before while the rest of him knew that the piercing coldness entering his body was little different from the lingering chills he had inside him since he was born.

"My entire life I've been cold," his mind whispered, "cold like a corpse…"

Suddenly, there came an explosion at the bathroom door. Later Bobby would learn that while he was losing consciousness his combat tactics and history teacher, Mr. Summers, had been banging his knuckles nearly bloody against it. However, finally after being met with nothing but silence, he had blown it clean off its hinges with an optic blast. In the years that followed, students could still make out the singe marks on the door frame leading to the east wing bathroom.

"Bobby? Bobby!" The only thing that the young man could remember was his teacher's warm arms around him, carrying him down the hall towards the infirmary; calling his name over and over again; his breath forming small puffs of steam in the frigid room; his gentle voice pleading to God that he was still alive. "Bobby!"

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"Bobby!" Professor Xavier's firm voice made the young man jump, returning his mind to the present, "You aren't quite listening to me, are you?"

"I'm sorry, Sir," he blinked, remembering that the professor had called him to his office after combat practice, "What were you saying about Mr. Summers, again?"

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A few days later, Bobby found himself walking up a snowy path towards an old cabin overlooking Lake Alkali. According to the town folk a Mr. Scott Summers had purchased it a few months ago.

The winter wind whistled as it swept across the gray lake and through the thick brush of the pine trees. Out of instinct and habit the young man shivered and pulled his wool coat more tightly around himself.

The cabin was the furthest from town and looked as if were the oldest and most forgotten. Its weathered, ash colored lumber made it almost disappear against the drab hue of the sunless sky.

Dry floor boards creaked underfoot and a simple wind chime that consisted of a solitary, clay bell pinged somberly as Bobby knocked on the wind battered door, "Mr. Summers?"

Shading his eyes with his hands he peered into one of the windows only to find that the cabin was completely dark inside. "Mr. Summers?" He called out again, pawing at the door a couple more times, "It's me, Bobby! The professor sent me!" The young man looked around. "Anyone home?" He trailed off.

At his final knock the old door finally gave way and fell open with a tiny creak. Bobby hesitated before entering, "Mr. Summers?"

Gently, he pushed the door open the rest of the way. His heart sank immediately as the mild light from the outside poured into the cabin, revealing its dilapidated interior.

There was no furniture of any kind save for two, overturned wooden chairs. Strewn about the floor were amber and clear glass bottles that smelled sourly of their previous contents, quickly consumed. Carefully stepping around the scattered bottles and glass shards, Bobby began to check the rooms, sadness mounting in his bosom as he progressed, "Anyone home?"

The cabinets of the kitchen in the far corner had all been flung open and contained nothing but a moldy loaf of bread and partially opened cans of food.

The condition of the upstairs bedroom was little different from the first floor. Kicking past more cans and bottles, Bobby touched the dusty mantle of the fireplace in the room before turning to look to the other side where the bed was supposed to be. In its stead lay a mass of restless sheets entangled in a heap of a sleeping bag and a dirty pillow.

Bobby began to wonder if anyone really was living here and even hoped that no one was. Yet his heart still ached, for deep down inside he knew his hope was wrong. Mr. Summers had been "living" here, this way, for quite some time now.

Eyes burning, the young man suddenly jet out onto the balcony. He bowed his head and leaned heavily on the wooden rail, breathing deeply until the bitter air of the place was cleared out of his lungs. Finally, he looked around at the grimly frosted trees and the rocky shoreline.

He finally settled his gaze on an empty boat dock not far off when he suddenly gasped. A lone man stood at the end of it, his feet lined up to the very edge. As if under a great amount of invisible weight, he stooped his shoulders and gazed infinitely into the choppy water below. Slowly, the man closed his eyes and brought his arms up, the frigid wind flapping into the wings formed by his open jacket.

"Mr. S--" Bobby's eyes widened as the figure began to fall forward, "Scott! Scott, no! Don't!"

In a flash, the young man leapt off the balcony, forming a spiral slide of ice to the ground as he went. "Scott," he shouted endlessly as he ran in between the trees, towards the dock, "Scott! Scott Summers!"

Just as he broke past the tree line, a crisp splash came to his ears. By the time he reached the dock, the cool, lake water had already started to lap calmly against it, again, like nothing had happened.

"Scott!" In one fluid motion, the young man threw off his heavy coat and dove into the icy water. It penetrated him to the bone, constricting around his chest and making his lungs stiff. Despite the numbing pain and fading light, he dove deeper, his hands reaching, searching infinitely.

Then as if by will or hope, Bobby felt his hand catch a limp wrist. Pulling the older man close, he spent the last of his energy creating a thick ice block beneath their feet. With incredible buoyant force, the ice and the two men popped to the serene surface of the lake and washed onto the shore.

"Come on. Come on, Scott," Bobby rubbed the older man's face, running his hand through Scott's thick, sopping wet hair, "Breathe!" Seeing no response he pressed his own shivering mouth over Scott's blue lips and began CPR, "Breathe!"

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_(In the past…)_

"Coming through! Move, people! Move!" The emergency room doors burst open as the gurney rattled down the hall.

"What do we got here?" Dr. Amelia Voght quickly snapped on her gloves and followed.

"Sixteen year old, male; possible runaway; severe lacerations to the eyes, hands, and wrists," the EMT spoke quickly, though out of breath.

"What's his name?" The doctor fastened on her disposable, yellow smock.

"Scott; name was written on the inside frame of the sunglasses we found near his body. Found him unconscious in an alley behind a bar off of route 23…never seen so much blood in my life."

"My god," Amelia gasped at the sight of the mutilated boy being lifted to the operating table. His fingers were caked in thick crimson. She then turned to the scrambling staff in the room, "Get me several pints of O, STAT!" She turned back to the boy, "Scott? Can you hear me?"

"Doc," the EMT stopped Dr. Voght in mid stride towards the operating table, "There's something else you need to know about that kid…" he swallowed, a fearful look washing over his face before continuing, "he's not normal, Doc. The razors we saw on the ground around him, hundreds of them… in pieces. His eyes, Doc…his eyes are—"

"Doctor!" A nurse shouted as the shrill whine of the heart monitor could be heard over the tumult, "He's crashing!"

"Damn," pulling away from the EMT she raced to the tableside, "I need 5cc's of epi!" Working fast, she administered the injection into the young man's arm and began to rub conductive gel in between the paddles of the defibrillator, "Charging! Clear!"

The kid's body jerked and contracted with each electric shock.

"Clear!"

At the very moment the young man fell back against the table, his eyes flickered open. Suddenly, the room was bathed in an intense, red light. The entire room shook heavily.

"Scott!" Amelia screamed, partly out of concern but mostly out of fear of the boy.

Instantly, everyone hit the floor, trying to shield themselves from the large debris raining down on them.

"Scott!"

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"Breathe!"

Bobby's heart skipped a beat when Scott finally coughed. Gasping, the young man collapsed onto the gravelly bank next to his teacher. Exhausted, they both lay there for a bit, their deep sighs pushing gaseous puffs of steam into the cool, evening air.

**Additional notes: **Please continue to part 2! Though this is a one shot for now I thought I'd split it up to make it easier to read. Guess it's a ficlet then huh?


	2. Chapter 2: Touch

**Disclaimer: **The following fiction is fan made and was inspired by the characters and story as developed by Marvel Comics. In no way do I own these characters nor their back stories.

**Part 2: Touch**

"Scott…" the whisper of his name pulled him out of his heavy slumber with a start.

"Jean," he gasped, as he had always done since he had been without her. It was as if a part of him believed that this was the kind of nightmare he could simply wake from.

"Shh…it's alright, Scott, don't get up," a strong, gentle hand eased him back down. Initially he tensed against it. It had been so long since he had felt another person's touch that the feeling was almost foreign.

"B-Bobby?" Scott stuttered, recognizing the voice. His body shook uncontrollably under the thick blankets, "W-wh-what…are you…"

"The professor sent me," Bobby answered softly, anticipating the rest of his question, "and I'm sorry about the blindfold, but I'm afraid we broke your glasses when we came to shore. You're gonna have to keep your eyes closed until we find the extra pair of red quartz glasses I _know_ you brought," the boy chuckled softly, squeezing Scott's shoulder in a comforting manner, "…frickin' boy scout…" Though he was blindfolded, Scott could picture a smirk spread gently across Drake's face as he shook his head.

Scott tried to smile back though his shivering mouth would have none of it. "S-so cold…" he stammered without thinking. He immediately wished that he could pull the words back in when he felt Bobby's gentle grasp slip away.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Summers," Bobby's footsteps backed away, "I can control it most of the time but there are still times when they…when I can't…"

The silence that followed was deafening.

"I hate to leave you," Bobby spoke up again with a hint of sadness wrenching in his voice, "but I finally managed to light a fire and, as I found with all the others before it, it won't keep for long if I stick around… I'll be right outside though and will be back once I get a grip on my…on myself. Just keep warm ok?"

Scott nodded and did his best to follow the young man's instructions. He pulled the blankets in tight and began to wrap his arms around himself. Naturally his body began to curl up.

After a moment, he heard the door downstairs swing shut. Instantly, the room was noticeably warmer. However, despite this, goose bumps lingered on his skin where Bobby had placed his hand. Even long after the young man had left and the trembling of Scott's body had subsided considerably, the goose bumps remained. It was as if his very skin was trying to reach out to the young man. How it yearned to be touched again.

-------------------------------------------------

"Has his parents been contacted, yet?"

"Afraid not. The system still hasn't turned up anything but… with the increase in runaways due to the rise of mutant manifestations I fear that the odds of finding a match are slim to none, now a days."

Even though he had bandages wound over his swollen eyes, Scott heard them since they had started coming down the hospital corridor. The crack under the door was quite sizable and sound moved very freely into the dead space that was Scott's hospital room. He recognized the doctor's footsteps and though the man with her wasn't walking he knew it was "The Professor." He had been accompanying the doctor on her visits for the past week. This time, however, there was also a third set of footsteps that Scott didn't recognize. They were light, graceful foot steps…

All the footsteps stopped just right outside the door. Scott could imagine they were looking in on him through the window. He feigned sleep and tried to roll over. Yet, when met with resistance, he remembered that they had tied him down. No one had told him exactly why. Upon coming to, he had been met with nothing but silence and hushed murmurs from the corridor and simply found he was not allowed to move. Yet, deep down inside he knew the reason.

"His MRI came back today, Professor," Dr. Voigt continued, "It shows severe scarring in the occipital lobes of his brain, specifically in his visual cortex suggesting he suffered severe head trauma in the past. I suspect that the initial brain damage and the scarring is what renders him unable to control his…unique ability.

The Professor let out the gentlest, calmest sigh Scott had ever heard, since he had lost his father. In his mind he could see the Professor smile softly, "So powerful for such a young boy," the man said half to himself as they entered the still room.

When the door opened, Scott cocked his head slightly almost breaking the façade of sleep he was trying to sustain. Somehow the air in the room had suddenly become sweeter in smell. It was a scent quite distinct from the powdery smell of the doctor and the pine smell of the Professor's after shave. It was the sweet smell of…sun kissed strawberries.

"Scott…Scott," the doctor jostled his shoulder gently until he stirred, "There are people here to see you."

"Why do you keep coming back here, old man?" Scott growled as meanly as he could despite his sudden craving for strawberries, "You couldn't get into my head before what makes you think you can crack me now? I'll never let you in, old man. So, just give up, stop pretending to be my friend, and leave me the hell alone!" He clenched his jaw and turned his head to the side since he could not move the rest of his body.

"Scott," Dr. Amelia said with a half scolding tone.

When she touched his forehead, he flinched away, "What the fuck are you doing, lady? Don't touch me!"

"Scott," the doctor replied, "MRI shows that your eyes are healed, it's been that way for days. We need to take off your bandages. Don't you want to see again?"

"No," a painful expression contorted his face, "I don't! I don't want to ever open them again! Why can't you understand that? Why didn't you just let me go blind? Why didn't you just let me die?" He turned away, his eyes growing hot from the acid tears pushing past his eyelids. Slowly he felt them seep through the thick layers of gauze.

"Amelia," the Professor stopped the doctor from pressing further.

"Scott," He turned back to the young man, "I've brought someone with me today. You seem to have got an abnormally high sense of blind perception so I'm sure you've already sensed her presence since we entered the room." Scott could picture a smile growing across the Professor's face, "Scott, I would like you to meet Jean."

A soft, smooth hand squeezed Scott's finger tips lightly. His heart jumped, startled at the sudden advance. By reflex he flinched, curling his fingers away from the gentle caress though he wished his body had done otherwise. Though the touch had been timid and brief, the initial tingling sensation lingered in his hand even after he had pulled way.

"Scott," the Professor continued, "If you stay very still, Jean is going to take off your restraints."

"Charles?" The doctor questioned, her tone hesitant.

"It's alright, Amelia. They're just going to go for a walk in the hospital courtyard. Young people like them shouldn't be cooped up inside on a beautiful day like this, don't you agree?"

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"Scott………Scott…." it was not long until her voice came to him again, "open your eyes…"

The shivering man squeezed his eyes lids more tightly together hoping sleep would return quickly.

"Scott…Scott…Scott…"

Finally Cyclops whipped himself up. The cool bedroom air hit his chest and arms as the blankets slid down his body. Splaying out his fingers, he set to work, running his fingers flat against the dusty floor boards, searching frantically.

As if by instinct, they automatically wrapped around the first glass bottle they touched. Bringing it close to his ear, Scott shook it gently. Hearing nothing he threw it over his shoulder. Another bottle was grasped in his clutches before he heard the previous one shatter somewhere behind him. Finding something left in this one, he threw the bitter contents to the back of his throat, discarded the bottle, and then immediately proceeded to search for another. Cool air hit the back of his legs as he pulled away from the blankets.

"Scott…" the voice cried.

Suddenly his fingertips came up against a chair leg. Briefly perplexed, his hands traced the outline of a rickety chair. He heard the muffled sound of heavy cloth right before the damp objects draped over his hands.

Recognizing the objects as damp clothes, Scott searched each of the pockets, regardless of who's they were, hurriedly crumpling each in his palm. Coming up empty handed, he pushed the damp clothes to the side and felt around the seat of the old chair some more.

"Ouch," Scott flinched, habitually bringing his cut finger to his lips. Something hard slid off the old chair seat. Yet before it struck the ground, Scott shot out his hand and caught the object flat between his fingers.

Carefully, he ran his fingertips over the sharp object again. It was flat slightly curved in the center. For the most part, save for some sharp edges, it was incredibly smooth. Suspecting the object's identity, he brought it to his eye, and gingerly lifted the blindfold on one side.

Though considerable damage to the red quartz lens made everything blurry, it was not enough to compromise the lens' integrity. Griping the lens tightly against his eye, he hastened his search.

All of the sudden pain shot through his right knee and the heel of his scouting hand. The blood was warm against his skin as it seeped to the surface. Without inspecting his new wounds he continued to make his way across the floor though he vaguely recalled all the previous bottles he thrown aside. Not a minute later he winced as he felt more shards slice into him. However, again, despite the pain he continued to look.

"Scott…"

Finally, several stale shots later he had somehow managed to make his way to the overturned nightstand. He stared at the old piece of furniture for a moment as if contemplating its wood pattern. Then, suddenly he lunged at it, remembering he had once placed a nearly full bottle of whiskey in it before it had been tipped over.

Whatever flicker of pride that could have resulted from such a discovery was quickly drowned and burned away by the poison he then forced down his gullet.

When the half-blind drunk finally came up for air, the echoes of a distant, haunting tune came to his ears. It was coming from outside.

Raising himself up onto his knees, Scott brought his nose just over the window sill of the frosted window.

Squinting, he could barely make out a ghostly figure skating across the sleepy waves of the lake, forming sparkling, crystalline trails as he went. The graceful, smooth contours of Bobby's naked ice form glistened in the pale moonlight as he made several loops and turns.

For some reason, Scott felt a heaviness enter his bosom as he watched. Slowly it grew as he began to question if it was really Bobby Drake on the lake; for the man on the water wasn't being silly, he wasn't having fun, he wasn't smiling. No. The man down there had his head down. His paths criss-crossing the ice were erratic; frustrated; painful. This man was…very sad.

Scott didn't know how long he had been sitting in front of the window, watching the young figure, but the next thing he knew he was on the floor, again. He heard Bobby come up the stairs and stop in the doorway of the bedroom. For the life of him, Scott couldn't get his body to move, let alone open his eyes, yet somehow he could see everything Bobby did as if it were clear as day.

He could feel Bobby's initial wide eyed shock to find him bleeding, naked, and on the opposite side of the room. This looked softened almost instantly into sorrow as the young man knelt down, took the tall, almost empty bottle from his hand, and tenderly wrapped him up again in the blankets. After placing the last layer around his shoulders, the young man kept his arms firmly around Scott, cradling him from behind.

When the older man suddenly made a weak gesture towards the whiskey bottle again, Bobby held his arms fast against his own body.

"No," he said softly, his breath warming Scott's ear, his butterfly eyelashes brushing lightly against Scott's unshaven cheek, "You've had enough."

**Additional notes:** Please read on to part 3!


	3. Chapter 3: Unrequited

**Disclaimer: **The following fiction is fan made and was inspired by the characters and story as developed by Marvel Comics. In no way do I own these characters nor their back stories.

**Part 3: Unrequited**

The next morning, the sun was incredibly bright. The small slivers of sunlight that had trickled through the curtains warmed Scott's face. So intense was the light that it bled through the bandages and his eyelids, imprinting the outlines of capillaries onto the back of his eyes, enveloping his vision in a vibrant, flesh red. All his life, Scott had hated the color red. Since the plane crash that killed his parents, everything he saw was some shade or intensity of it. But today, this morning, the flesh red hue made him smile.

His grin widened when he felt a light, warm breath sighing softly against the nape of his neck. Though now relaxed, Bobby's arms still clung to Scott, encircling the older man in a comforting, almost intimate embrace.

"Bobby…you're still here…" Scott's mind whispered.

Scott stirred slightly, bringing up a corner of the blanket near his foot. He let out a small gasp when a puff of frigid, morning air popped under the blanket and grazed his body before the blanket settled back down again. As the shiver dissipated down his spine, he couldn't shake the odd thought that the sensation had been strangely delightful. Knowing that nothing but a few layers of cloth and a young man's embrace were keeping the cold out was simply amazing.

How long had it been since he had laid in the sun, never wishing to move again?

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_(In the past…)_

"So you really think these walks out in the courtyard help?" Amelia stepped up next to Professor Xavier at the window peering out across the psychiatric ward quad courtyard. On the other side of the quad, Jean was leading Scott by the hand in a path around the perimeter.

"It may…it may not," the professor shrugged, "Scott needs an unconditional friend and Jean has a lot of love to give so with any luck it will work for both of them. However, you and I both know that minds and hearts alike are often fickle as well, Amelia."

"Heh," the doctor made the noise in the back of her throat and glanced at the carpet briefly, "so what are they talking about out there, Charles? I know you've been eavesdropping on their thoughts."

"Amelia," Charles shook his head and smiled, "you know I would never do that. I wouldn't be very trustworthy if I did. But…if you look at their lips…you probably can notice they're not saying much of anything."

"I see," the doctor nodded and chuckled, "So you _are_ listening to their thoughts."

The professor's smile deepened, "Actually, Amelia, a lot can be said without words or telepathy," he rested his chin on his hand, "Language and the mind are primitive and many a time do we find ourselves at a loss of how to describe a simple touch, an incredible emotion…anything that goes beyond expectation." He glanced at the doctor briefly before continuing, "That's what's happening out there, Amelia,…an indescribable bond between two people is being made."

**---**

_(In the courtyard…)_

"Eek!" Jean let out a small noise when her foot suddenly hit an uneven portion of the pavement and began to fall forward.

Letting go of Scott's hand she instinctively shot out her arms to brace herself. Yet before she struck the ground, Scott leapt forward, catching her. Not having sure footing himself, Scott skidded to the ground, holding Jean tightly against his body so no part of her would touch the rough sidewalk. He heard his hospital robe tear as they came to a stop. For a moment after this, they lay that way on the concrete, not moving.

The young man's heart raced. Jean's hair was long and had fallen gently across his face. The sun had warmed her soft locks and he savored each strawberry kissed breath he took.

"Whoa," Jean finally spoke as they lay in the warm, golden light, "How did you do that? You're eyes are all bandaged up."

Scott hesitated before answering, knowing full well that after doing so Jean would rise and then proceed to help him back into the hospital to patch up his scrapes and bruises. Talking seems to always lead to some sort of change.

"I don't know," he spoke slowly, trying to draw the situation out longer, "It's kind of weird. I don't know how to describe it. I guess it's a lot like wandering around in the dark and you have your arms out. You know something is near…because you…_feel_ its presence…" Scott chuckled, "but then you can't just stand there in the dark holding out your arms forever. So you move towards it…and then you run into it." He laughed again, "I don't know. The prof thinks I have some sort of special ability with three dimensional space and blind perception."

"Oh, I see…" Jean sighed and, to much of Scott's displeasure, began to brush herself off and rise. He lay still for a bit longer, not wishing to move.

"Jean?" Finally, Scott sat up and held Jean's hand.

"Yes?" She peered down at him, prepared to help him up.

"May I look at you?" His voice was barely audible.

"I'm sorry?"

"I mean," Scott cast his face down, "I've only known you for the past few days but I feel like I've known you for so long and…I think I'm gonna accept the Prof's offer to join the school in the fall…and so…you've probably already read my mind but…I was wondering…May I see you?"

"Oh!" To his heart's dismay Jean dropped his hand and started to touch his bandages, "you mean these? Of course!" Bringing up one of the edges, she gently began to unwind the fabric.

"No…I mean…" Scott stuttered, "Well that too but what I mean is…" The young man trailed off, suddenly remembering he needed to keep his eyes shut as Jean gently removed the medical tape from his eyelids.

Tenderly, she placed his glasses back over his eyes. As he opened them, the sunlight was nearly blinding. Yet it was the sight of Jean leaning over him that took his breath away. Even the bland reddish tint of the red quartz lenses couldn't wash her beauty out.

"Now that wasn't too hard was it?" Jean smiled.

Scott blinked several times despite his efforts now to keep his eyes open as long as possible. "What I meant, Jean," he swallowed and continued, disregarding her previous question, "Are you seeing anyone?"

A breeze rustled the blossoming trees overhead, filling the air with sweet perfume and sending tiny white petals fluttering down around them.

After an eternity of silence Jean finally took a step back away from him. "Oh, Scott," she whispered, "I…I think I've given you the wrong idea." She took a couple more steps back. "I'm sorry but Warren and I are..." Her eyes became sad as empathic powers began to pick up on the young man's heartache.

"So his name is Warren…" Scott looked back down at the rough concrete. He hadn't noticed before, but parts of the walk way were wet and a lot of the little white petals were stuck in patches all along it. It must have rained the night before.

"I'm sorry, Scott," she said quietly after another pause. Though his eyes never left the petal littered pavement, Scott knew that as she ran out of the courtyard she was crying.

As Scott's vision began to blur, another breeze came along and sent more petals to the ground, but somehow this time the air wasn't quite as sweet. It was probably going to rain again.

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_(Present time…Lake Akali)_

Shivering. Scott was shivering when he awoke with a start. "Bobby…" the name escaped his lips. During his slumber, the blankets had slid off of his body and Bobby, along with the sunlight was gone.

With the fog of sleep still clinging to his brain, Cyclops suddenly panicked. Clutching one of the blankets around himself, Scott's mind raced. "Bobby. Bobby? Are you there?" He called out to an empty house. Staggering to his feet, Scott began to feel his way out of the room. His bandaged fingertips throbbed and his head pounded reminding him of what had done to himself the night before. Yet, he continued his frantic search.

"Bobby?!" He cried out again and again, his speech often fluctuating as he struggled to keep his balance despite the randomly scattered bottles and cans that littered the floor

At the top of the stairs he let out a large gasp, as he felt his legs catch and buckle around the edge of the blanket that he had been dragging with him. Dropping the blanket, the blind man slid and tumbled down the stairs. Due to friction and the jagged ridges of the steps, his body luckily stopped descending right before reaching the ground floor.

Groaning, Scott clung to the rough wall and brought himself to his feet again, "Bobby…where are you?" He whispered, his voice hoarse and his breath quickening.

Outside, the still air was chilling, and made every muscle of Scott's bare body quiver. How different the outside air was from the hot tears starting to trail down his chin. Breathing heavily, he collapsed just beyond the porch, resting his forehead against the frozen, snow dusted ground.

All of the sudden, his shoulders began to shake more violently. However it was not the cold that infected his shoulders but an uncontrollable, painful laugh radiating from deep in his throat that overtook him. _What was he doing?! _

"This is for the better," Scott shook his head at himself as his body continued to convulse in sobs, "How embarrassing would it have been had Bobby been here to hear me calling out _his_ name…"

"You know," Scott's heart jumped at the sound of Bobby's voice, "if you keep up this habit of wandering around hung over and blind, we're going to have to tie you down." He chuckled lightly as he removed his heavy wool coat and draped it around Scott's shoulders, "…ok that came out completely wrong_ …_" Fortunately Scott couldn't see the blush that had risen to Bobby's cheeks.

**Additional Notes: **Read on for the final piece!


	4. Chapter 4: Longing

Disclaimer: The following fiction is fan made and was inspired by the characters and story as developed by Marvel Comics

**Disclaimer: **The following fiction is fan made and was inspired by the characters and story as developed by Marvel Comics. In no way do I own these characters nor their back stories.

**Part 4: Longing**

_(A few hours later…)_

"Bobby, what are you doing?" Scott's pulse jumped when Bobby ran his fingers through his hair.

"Sorry I left you again, Mr. Summers," Bobby said as he traced the edges of the soft bandages and began to undo them, "But I couldn't find any of your special glasses here so I had Rogue send me a pair. So I had to go into town to pick them up at the post office. I also picked up some supplies cause I figured we needed some."

"I see," Cyclops relaxed, "but I don't understand, Bobby. I took all my glasses with me when I had left. How did you…"

"You did," Bobby nodded, "There wasn't anything left, except a blank room to remember you by. You took almost everything but one pair of glasses you forgot…the pair I stole."

He stopped unwinding the bandages for a moment, resting his hands lightly on Scott's shoulders. He sighed, deep in thought, rubbing the length of the soft cotton bandages between his fingers, "It was the night you stayed in the infirmary with me after I had tried to…" he trailed off, his eyes falling to rest on the band of his wrist watch, or rather what was beneath it.

"That night," the young man squeezed the loose ends of fabric in his fists, "you were called out on a mission…you thought I was sleeping when you suited up in the room…you left your glasses on the nightstand after you had put on your suit's visor…heh" Bobby made the sound in his throat, indicating a soft smile "I think at the time a part of me wanted to be just like you…so I took them…and every so often I'd even put them on whenever no one was around or when I thought that no one was watching…"

"Bobby…" Scott murmured.

For a brief instance, Bobby was taken aback by the gentleness with which Cyclops had said his name. Up until that point, everyone and especially Mr. Summers, had always said his name only when scolding him or lecturing him in some way or form. It was only this time and the night Scott had saved him when he had ever heard his name spoken with care.

After a brief silence, the young man laughed and started to unwind the bandages again, "I've never told anyone that before… crazy huh?"

Save for the crackle of the firewood in the fireplace, silence settled across the room again as the final layer of cotton fell away from Scott's eyes. Thick unbridled bangs fell softly over his eyelids.

"Bobby," Scott spoke up when he didn't feel Bobby move to hand him the glasses, "Is something the matter?"

He could picture the young man blinking several times, "You're just like me. I mean you're scars around your eyes…I'm sorry…" Bobby spoke quickly, "I've never really seen you without your glasses…I mean before it was dark. I just never thought that ever once you were the type of person that would want to--" The young man stopped talking all together.

Cyclops lowered his head and smiled, "You thought I've been proud my entire life?"

"Yeah I guess….I'm sorry, Mr. Summers…I didn't mean to react that way."

"It's alright. It happened a long time ago. I could have been called a lot of things back then and none of them were good. I hurt a lot of people…and if it weren't for Jean I'd probably be still on the street…I'd probably would have died out there by now."

"You owe her everything don't you?"

Scott smiled, "She was the only one I ever let completely in. I didn't even allow Professor X to get in as close as she did. I straightened out because of her. I became the man I am now because when we first met I was a mess and I wanted to…impress her. Angel was her with her back then. At the time he was 'Mr. Perfect' and I wanted to be better than him. So I guess I'm crazy too because I did it all for a woman. Heh." He chuckled again, though sadly this time, "What's more is that even after I became disciplined…I found that all principle and discipline I had fell apart whenever it came to her. Whenever it comes to her… I can't control myself."

"I see," was all the young man said though he was surprised at how open Scott was being. It was like he was a completely different person from the teacher he had grown to admire despite his usual stoic and commanding exterior.

Bobby then gently brushed the hair out of his mentor's eyes and placed the glasses on the bridge of his nose. Indeed, the frames were older. Scott could feel how much heavier they were than his newer polytech glasses.

When his eyes finally focused, Scott let out a small, almost inaudible gasp. For a moment he was at a loss of how to describe the young man before him.

Somehow, Bobby looked more grown up than he had remembered. His jaw line was stronger and had narrowed slightly. His smooth cheek bones had matured to a bit higher position on his face. Though his soft, dark eyes had retained their playful glint they were a tad duller, saddened by young experience and endurance. Yet, even still, the young man had the look of vulnerability in him.

_That _was the word he was looking for to describe him...vulnerable. He was vulnerable…he was _beautiful_.

Looking over at the smudged glass pane that hung over the fireplace, Scott let out a larger gasp. In the mirror, he saw an old, scraggly man. The area around his eyes, not hidden behind the glasses, was slightly sunken in from many sleepless nights. He had an overgrown beard and his hair had become long and knotted.

"Haha," Bobby laughed ad Scott's reaction to his reflection, "I knew I should have had you clean up before we put those glasses on. But don't worry, I've brought back soap, a razor, and scissors from the general store and we'll get you back into your Boy Scout look in no time. Unless you're willing to experiment and go with a Goth or punk look, or something…you don't know how many times I was tempted to give you a mohawk while you were sleeping off your hangover…"

_(A few more hours later…)_

"Wow, you're pretty good at his," Scott said.

"I said don't move unless you want me to slice off your ear," Bobby spoke firmly, concentrating on making the final trims to Scott's hair.

"There," Bobby finally stated, "Done. Now for the beard, which I'd be crazy to let a man recovering from a several months long drunken stupor shave himself. Do you want a trucker 'stache or handle bar mustache? Personally I'd recommend mutton chops if you want to complete your lumberjack, flannel look you've got goin' on right now…"

Scott pursed his lips, "Just take it off Bobby."

"…why Mr. Summers, I'm flattered but you see Rogue and I…"

"You know what I mean," Cyclops rolled his eyes, trying not to give in to Bobby's childish jokes, " How is Rogue, by the way?"

"Actually," Bobby dropped his playful tone and began to clip the long beard, "I don't know. She's been kind of distant lately and I haven't gone out with her in a while."

"Oh," was all Scott said as the young man began to lather his face with soap. Scott couldn't help but notice how soft Bobby's hands were as they gently pressed the cool blade against his chin.

No further words passed between the two until Bobby was wiping the foam from Scott's now smooth face.

"There. You look like an X-man now…just as you did before…" Bobby whispered, his hand subconsciously cradling Scott's jaw from behind the soft towel, "Good as new."

"Bobby," Scott whispered back, "I'm sorry. I can't go back. Not now...I can't leave her. I can't leave Jean."

Bobby's face saddened. He pulled his hand away, "Jean is in your heart, not in that lake! She'd want you to move on, Mr. Summers. She died so that you and the X-men may carry on. Love her, yes…but stop killing yourself like this." He turned his back to Scott, "You belong back with the X-men. That's why the Professor sent me. He sent me because he knows that I look up to you. What am I supposed to tell him and the others?"

"Tell him that your childhood hero is dead." Scott said flatly, his characteristic, stoic tone finally creeping into his voice.

"No," Bobby whipped around and shouted, "I won't! You see I think the Professor sent me because he thought that if you realized that there are people that look up to you…that …that _need_ you…you'd come back," he took a step towards Scott and then another, "You know me, I wouldn't have come if I didn't believe that too. Hell, just like you wouldn't be here if it weren't for Jean, I wouldn't be here if you hadn't been there for me. There are people that care about you…that need you, Mr. Summers. The X-men need you….…._I need you_...Scott." He whispered and leaned in close to Cyclops.

The kiss was sudden, yet soft…and yet it was so very brief. As soon as Scott felt the chaste pressure of the young man's lips, he pushed Bobby away. His lips were freezing.

"I think you should go," Scott said in between heavy breaths. Funny that he hadn't noticed when his breath had quickened, "Tell the professor that I'm sorry, but I can't go back…not now…not with you…I'm sorry, Bobby…you've wasted your time."

He turned his back to the young man. After a deafening silence, Scott heard Bobby grab his things and leave. The door shut quietly with a soft click.

Scott stood motionless for a moment. He watched Bobby's silhouette shrink in the distance, the long, loose ends of his scarlet scarf dancing in the wind.

"It's for the best," Cyclops repeated to himself, trying to write off the heaviness that was growing in his chest with each step the silhouette took away from him.

After a while Scott realized that he had brought his hand to his lips and that his fingers were subconsciously tracing their outline. They were tingling with a cool, delightful sensation.

Outside, Bobby tried hard not too look back. But alas at the top of the far, snowy hill he found that his feet had stopped moving and that his eyes had fallen back at the forsaken cabin. The snow in the air made it even harder to make out against the gray sky.

A stiff wind finally pushed Bobby to sever his gaze from the old house. With heaviness on his shoulders, he turned back around and began to walk again.

He hadn't traveled very far when he heard something crash through the brush and jump out in front of him.

Bobby's eyes widened. It was Scott, he had been running and he was breathing hard. His breath pushed thick puffs of steam into the cold, night air. The snow swirled down around them as they both stood looking at each other for a moment.

Scott hadn't gained complete control over his breath when he walked in close to Bobby. Taking the young man's face in his hands, he pulled down the red scarf that covered Bobby's lips, and kissed him long and hard as if his tongue was desperately trying to remember how to be gentle and yet get everything it had been missing. In effort to tame him, Bobby tried to kiss him back with as much force that an inexperienced mouth could give. He ran his fingers through Scott's fiery red hair over and over again.

When Scott finally let go, they both were gasping, the cold air tightening their lungs. Slowly, Scott pushed the red scarf back over Bobby's tender lips, backed away, and began to walk back down the hill towards the cabin.

"M-m," Bobby's voice trembled in between gasps, "M-mr. Sum--?"

Scott kept his back to the perplexed young man and continued to walk slowly down the hill. He placed both hands in his jean pockets. He was enjoying the feeling the young man had left on his lips.

"S-Scott? Bobby called out finally.

To this, Scott tipped his head forward slightly and raised his hand as if to wave at him with the back of it. He kept it in the still air as he calmly continued to walk away, the snow crunching methodically under his boots.

It took the young man quite some time to realize that this gesture meant "See you later, kid."

**Additional notes:** And of course I've got a brief epilogue! Teeheehee…don't worry…it's really short!


	5. Epilogue: Distance

**Disclaimer: **The following fiction is fan made and was inspired by the characters and story as developed by Marvel Comics. In no way do I own these characters nor their back stories.

**Epilogue: Distance**

_(One month later…)_

Bobby's heart leapt when he heard Scott's motorcycle arrive at the front gate of the academy. Yet, somehow, he managed to keep his cool exterior as he and several of the other students ran down the hall to greet him.

"It's good to be back," Bobby's mouth went dry when he heard Scott's strong, yet gentle voice respond to others already welcoming him at the front door.

At the top of the winding stairs, Bobby smiled, his eyes beaming when Scott finally looked up at him. However, though Scott had kept a smile across his face, the air of his gaze, his body language said something different…something colder. Bobby wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

"Hey, Mr. Summers," Bobby shook Scott's hand, playfully sending a small chill through his fingertips.

Scott pulled his hand back indifferent and not acknowledging the playful gesture. "Bobby," he said, his voice back to its normal authoritative tone, "I want you to meet someone." He turned and revealed a young woman.

Bobby's eyes grew large. The woman looked, detail for detail, inch for inch, exactly like…

"Jean?" Bobby whispered breathless.

"No," Scott let out a small laugh, "This is Miss Madelyne Pryor. She's my fiancé."

"Nice to meet you," eerily even the woman's voice was the same as Jean's.

"Nice to meet you too," Bobby smiled and blinked several times trying to hide his bewilderment, "Congratulations, Sco…err…Mr. Summers and welcome back."

"It's good to be back," Scott repeated as he and Miss Pryor started to make their way to his room. The rest of the students and teachers followed, leaving Bobby standing motionless in the hallway.

"Bobby, you alright?" Rogue poked him.

"Yeah," Bobby said distantly to the air in front of him. He then turned and forced a smile. "I'm fine," he said as he pushed past Rogue and walked quickly up the stairs and to the bathroom. Shutting the door behind himself he walked to the mirror as if to confirm that tears were indeed running down his face. He harshly slapped himself, once then twice as if that could force the tears back. Then as if overcome by an unknown force, he clung to the porcelain sink and sank to the cool tile floor.

Cyclops was back alright. He was exactly the way he was before Jean died. It was like he had never left. What was the word he was looking for? Cyclops was stoic; egotistical; authoritative. He was cold.

**Additional notes:** Yeah I know…this fic was a lot slower paced than "Red Robin" but I thought I'd try something a little different and more drama oriented. So what'd you think? Continue? Too boring? Let me know? If this goes well enough with this fic I may try to continue it. So please review! Thanks in advance!


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